


Definitions

by NorfolknWay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Analysis of Self, Love, M/M, References to Shakespeare, Smitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorfolknWay/pseuds/NorfolknWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desire is always a kind of invention. It is a biological process which blurs rationality. Hannibal above all know this, so why can't he help himself as he starts to fall for Will?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definitions

The definition of love is as follows-

i) noun  
[mass noun]  
• a strong feeling of affection: babies fill parents with intense feelings of love  
• a strong feeling of affection and sexual attraction for someone: they were both in love with her we were slowly falling in love  
• affectionate greetings conveyed to someone on one’s behalf: give her my love  
• a formula for ending an affectionate letter: take care, lots of love, Judy

This I assure you is wrong.

Another way of phrasing my ‘falling in love’ with Will was ‘pressing a loaded gun to my temple’; these two phrases were synonymous. He would be the death of me but if that were to be the case I planned on dying many times between now and then. These will be sweet deaths.

While you are denied from me, I long for you: this forbidden fruit; seductive, heady but unaware of its own draw. I am not the kind of person who would miss an appointment to catch a glimpse of you as you leave the house but I do so nevertheless. I’d wait outside all night; all predetation forgotten if I thought you’d stand on your front porch in the morning, I’d stand downwind if only to try and sense more of you. If I dreamt, I’d dream of you. 

Desire is always a kind of invention. It is a biological process which blurs rationality. Desire re-invents familiar bonds, corroding the old ones that were previously so solid and safe. These new tenuous cords of elastic, created by our desire, coil us closer but with each merger they fray slightly. This is why one night stands never work, there are no other bonds for security. 

I am your stalker, your psychopath, the one whose fantasy is out of control. Desiring someone who has no desire for you is a clue to the nature of this all-consuming fantasy; it has much more to do with me than it has to do with you. Love is inherently selfish. You are the object of my desire. You are an object to be possessed, obtained, studied and shelved- but I will not shelve you. In this love I am the subject. I am the I and the Id.

You buried yourself within the ashes of my heart, in the burnt out shell of my once lost affections. There you planted a weed and with cupped hands and soft words nurtured it till the vines climbed over the walls of my heart. Now when you glance my way the vines grow more, they tighten and cause me a pain, here. You walked into the room… our eyes met… and my heart faltered and fell.

It is safe to say that overwhelming desire for another person involves a good deal of projection. I don’t believe in love at first sight but I do believe in desire at first sight. And nothing feels more like life than desire. I am an addict. Everyone knows it; the surge in the blood, cocaine-high. Desire is shamanistic, trance-like, ecstatic. It is savage and primal it addresses the monster within me directly, challenging it, reining it, riding it. 

Desire for you fills my mind cluttering the neatly stacked collection of thoughts in my head. In this quiet corner of my world you invite the jumbled packed, bloated, noisy world, chaotic, exotic and oh so addictive. I think of you and little else, and so I realise how absurd and wasteful are most of the things that I do. Body, mind, effort, are concentrated and now consecrated in your image. The fragmented state of ordinary life at last becomes coherent. No longer scattered through time and space, I am collected in one place, and that place is you. You are my obsession and I will possess every cell of you, every breath of yours: in one way or another. 

Simple. Perfect.

Until it goes wrong.

Desire is transformed into love, it is no longer a want, you are a need. Language gives me away; my feet will no longer touch the tightly packed earth. In the limbo of your affections reality and realism does not exist. To alleviate the pain, the boredom, the wait, this yearning clench in my lower muscles- I long to hear you voice: condemn me, hate me, love me. Love me. 

I am dammed.

 

CALIBAN You taught me language and my profit on’t is  
I know how to curse. The red plague rid you  
For learning me your language.

 

But in the end you are neither Miranda nor Prospero, you are more eternal. I cannot kill you because you are necessary to my existence, you are the ground I walk upon, the rolling tempest above my head. I cannot consume you because it is I that has been consumed- we are so much more than love- you are my existence.


End file.
